


The Road Back to Edoras

by losto_vae_mellon_nin



Series: The Road After Imladris [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Edoras, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Rohan, The Two Towers, middle-earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losto_vae_mellon_nin/pseuds/losto_vae_mellon_nin
Summary: What if Théoden recognised Aragorn and realized he was Thorongil when they met in The Two Towers.
Series: The Road After Imladris [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138730
Kudos: 6





	The Road Back to Edoras

**Author's Note:**

> This is a what-if ficlet from the universe of my story 'The Road after Imladris' . It is recommended, but not needed, to read the story before reading this.  
> DISCLAIMER! Some of these lines (and obviously the beautiful poem) do not belong to me, but come from the book and also the movie. I do not own these characters or this beautifully written story they are from.  
> Hope you enjoy!

_ In Dwimordene, in Lórien _

_ Seldom have walked the feet of Men, _

_ Few mortal eyes have seen the light _

_ That lies there ever, long and bright. _

_ Galadriel! Galadriel! _

_ Clear is the water of your well; _

_ White is the star in your white hand; _

_ Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land _

_ In Dwimordene, in Lórien _

_ More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men. _

Gandalf sang softly, but suddenly his demeanor changed. He flung back his grey cloak and hat and stood before Théoden King, no longer leaning on his staff.

“When did you fall into the nets of Saruman, Gríma, son of Gálmód?” asked the Wizard in a clear, yet cold voice. “You were once a worthy advisor. Alas, you have become a witless worm. Therefore, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to listen to your lies.”

He raised his staff and there was a roll of thunder. Sunlight was blotted out from the eastern windows and the hall lay in darkness. The fire faded to embers. Only Gandalf could be seen, standing tall and fair in the midst of the surrounding darkness.

“Did I not counsel you to forbid his staff, my lord? That fool, Háma, has betrayed us!” hissed Wormtongue.

There was a flash of lighting and all went silent. Wormtongue was sprawled on the floor, whimpering pathetically.

“Will you listen now, Théoden, son of Thengel?” asked Gandalf. “Will you ask for help?”

He lifted his staff and the darkness seemed to clear. Through an opening in the roof could be seen, high and far, a patch of blue sky.

“Not all is dark. Take courage, Lord of the Mark, for better help you shall not find. I would give you words of counsel. But will you hear them? I bid you to come and stand at the doors of your hall. Too long have you sat in the shadows.”

Slowly, as if awakening from a dream, the old man stood up. A woman with fair hair rushed to his side to help him stand, but the man shook her off. He leaned onto his staff and walked slowly towards the entrance of the hall, the woman trailing behind her, wonder evident on her young face. Wormtongue remained on the floor, and Théoden spared him no glance as he passed. Upon coming to the doors, Gandalf knocked on them.

“Open!” he cried. “The Lord of the Mark comes forth.”

The doors opened slowly and a cold, yet fresh, breeze came in. The two men stepped out, the Three Hunters trailing behind them with the court of Théoden in the back. Gríma snuck in the rear.

“Send your guards down the stairs’ foot,” said Gandalf, then turning towards the woman. “And you, my lady, leave him with me. I shall care for him.”

“Go, Éowyn, sister-daughter!” smiled Théoden. “The time for fear and darkness is past.”

The woman bowed and returned to the hall. Upon passing Aragorn, her eyes rested on him for a few short moments. Aragorn bowed his head.

“Look upon your lands, my lord. Breathe the free air again!” spoke Gandalf.

The King looked around in wonder. He gazed at the green plains for a long time before turning towards the Wizard and smiling brightly.

“It is not so dark here,” he admitted.

“No,” replied Gandalf. “Nor does age lie so heavily on your shoulders. Cast away that staff of yours.”

Théoden let his black staff drop onto the stones with a clatter. He drew himself up, as if a man stiff from bending over for a long period of time. He looked at his wrinkled hands in wonder.

“Perhaps your hands would remember their old strength better, if they held your sword,” said Gandalf and bestowed Háma, who was bearing the King’s sheathed sword, Herugrim, to come forth. The doorwarden bowed in front of the King and held the sword in front of him. Théoden grasped the hilt and unsheathed the blade slowly. He held it in front of him, the strength returning to his hands in mere moments.

A crowd of people had gathered upon the foot of the stairs leading to Meduseld. They looked at their King in awe and bowed. But Théoden’s eyes suddenly found Gríma’s, and his face darkened.

“Get out of my sight, you worm!” ordered the King, moving towards the other man threateningly.

Gríma’s eyes widened and he moved towards the stairs to escape from Théoden’s wrath. However, upon descent, he slipped and fell down the uppermost flight. He finally stopped and lay gasping on the ground. Théoden walked towards him with his sword bared.

“I have only ever served you, my lord,” whined Gríma while crawling on his hands in a desperate attempt to escape the King.

“Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast.” Théoden continued advancing the crawling man.

“Send me not from your service, I beg you!” Upon those words, the King finally reached Wormtongue and raised his sword above his head, as if to kill him.

But Aragorn rushed forward and took hold of his hands. The King struggled against his iron-tight grip.

“No, my lord!” cried the Ranger. “No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilt on his account.”

Théoden’s raged eyes met the other man’s and suddenly the anger in his eyes cleared. He stared at Aragorn in wonder, but remained silent. The Ranger offered his hand to Gríma, who only spat in it.

“Get out of my way!” He scrambled onto his feet, and pushed himself through the crowd.

“Thorongil,” Aragorn closed his eyes at the mention of his old alias. “is that really you, or do my old eyes deceive me?”

Aragorn turned around, facing the King. “Many springs have passed since we last trained on this very stair, son of Thengel. I am surprised you still remember my face.”

“You were a mighty warrior, Thorongil, and you taught me how to use a sword, I would not dare forget you,” replied Théoden in a wide smile. “You held yourself in a kingly manner, but I thought you were but a proud and a strong man. But I see now that you are a leader from the Legends of Old. May the King soon reign once again in the white halls of Gondor.”

With that, the two men walked up the stairs. Théoden stood beside Gandalf. 

“Dark have been my dreams of late,” said the King, “but I feel as if new-awakened. I wish you would have come before, Gandalf. For I fear that it is already too late. How long will the House of Eorl stand? Fire shall devour the high seat. What is there to be done?”

“Much,” replied Gandalf. “But first, send for Éomer. Do I not guess rightly that you hold him as prisoner, by the council of Gríma?”

“It is true. He rebelled against my command and threatened death to Gríma in my hall.”

“A man may love you, yet not love the councils of Wormtongue,” remarked Gandalf.

“I will do your bidding. Call Háma to me. If he is untrusty as a doorwarden, he will serve as an errand-runner. Let the guilty bear the guilty to his judgement,” said Théoden with a grim voice, yet he looked at Gandalf and smiled.

  
  


The Three Hunters were sitting behind a long table in the main hall of Meduseld. They were drinking their last drops of mead before leaving for the road. Suddenly Gimli looked up and gazed at the Ranger inquisitively. 

“Why did the King call you by the name Thorongil?” the Dwarf asked.

Aragorn was about to answer but was interrupted by Éowyn, who let out a surprised gasp.

“You were Thorongil, the mighty warrior that fought beside Thengel, my grandfather.” exclaimed the woman and Aragorn nodded with a sly grin.

“But that means you must be at least sixty.”

Aragorn looked down and shook his head.

“Seventy?” - the man shook his head once again - “You cannot be eighty!”

Aragorn did not raise his eyes but Legolas chuckled merrily. “He is eighty-seven, my fair lady.”

Wonder only grew in the woman’s eyes. “You are one of the Dúnedain, a descendant of Númenor, blessed with long life. It is told that your race passed into legend.”

“There are a few of us left,” replied Aragorn. “The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago.”

Tense silence laid upon the company. During her speech, Éowyn had sat down onto the edge of the bench, across from the Three Hunters, and moved to stand up once again, but was stopped by Gimli speaking up once again.

“But you did not finish your story, Aragorn. How did you come to this place?” he asked curiously.

“It was many years ago, I was still young and inexperienced, at the tender age of six and twenty. I had met Gandalf a few months prior on my way to a homestead of my kin, and he told me to take the name Thorongil and come to Rohan to serve the Lord of the Mark. And so it happened, only a few months later I was on my way to Rohan on Beleg. I stumbled upon a band of Orcs fighting King Thengel and his company, and managed to save them from what would have surely been their peril. On that very day, I pledged my service to Thengel,” spoke Aragorn, smiling fondly at the memory.

“But that was not all,” a new voice added, and the company turned to see the King standing at the end of the table. “I, being just nine years old, came to thank Aragorn for his courageous deed, and begged him to teach me to fight like he did. While I had been getting lessons from an early age, no man but him could have taught me better.”

Aragorn bowed his head.

  
  



End file.
